


Duty

by AutumnTribe



Category: Naruto
Genre: Being the Kazekage's son doesn't spare you the lousy assignments, Gen, Missions aren't always flashy, Some are unchallenging and make you think too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 20:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4849424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnTribe/pseuds/AutumnTribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kankurou completes the kind of mission nobody brags about, because he might not like it, but he does his duty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duty

**Author's Note:**

> There are missions that fall into the ugly margin between flashy (fighting dangerous people) and farcical (catching escaped pets).
> 
> This is one of them.

Unlike Konoha, in Sunagakure shinobi were never allowed the luxury of declining a mission. There were always too few of them, never enough of sufficient skill level or rank. Such niceties were for more peaceful and abundant places than the center of the desert.

This was fine with Kankurou, of course. After growing up with his father and spending years watching Baki stoically accept every mission the Kazekage sent his way, he had learned his place in the harsh machine of commerce and service. He understood duty, even if he greeted it with scowls, complaints, and enough sheer bitterness to make messengers cringe.

The Kazekage, being a bright man if not a kind one, learned. He sent a condor to carry the message of Kankurou’s first solitary mission. Not only was it an ironic choice, but there was no way to bicker over details or question motives. The only other human present was Temari, who averted her eyes and kept her mouth shut when he turned her way. She was never asked to kill untrained civilians, even if they knew secrets that could undermine the Daimyo.

Kankurou thinned his eyes and snarled softly, shouldering Karasu without a word and abruptly leaving the room. He never left his bedchambers without his paint, and most mornings he wore the simple puppeteer’s jumpsuit as a precaution. There was nothing to slow him down, and he was on the road within half an hour and outside the target’s simple oasis home before sunset.

There weren’t even guards. A boy perhaps two years younger than him sat beside the spring that ran along the front of the property, poking at sturdy little crawfish with a broken reed and laughing at the way they scurried for cover. A thicket of dense bamboo swayed in the wind, sand-worn on the outer side yet oddly glossy and elegant where it faced the house. Kankurou crouched in the darkness, lip curling slightly at the sound of the other boy’s amusement, waiting for the red streaks to fade from the darkening ultramarine sky.

In the distance, a desert jackal barked dolefully without response from any others of its kind. A woman emerged from the deep arch of the entryway, hands on her ample hips and hair swept up simply into a loose knot at the back of her head. The boy didn’t hear her approaching and jumped when her hand settled on his shoulder.

They took their dinner late, sitting with a bony middle-aged man with sparse hair and deeply etched smile creases around his mouth and eyes. It was nothing special, simple grains and meat, yet the small details made Kankurou’s stomach uneasy. The night air was cold and still and his thighs stung from the hours spent running, then stooping between shifting bamboo stalks. The woman washed dishes when the meal was over, her son standing by her side with a towel, carefully drying and stacking plates. The man placed a hand on his head, smiling fondly, before walking away and up the stairs. He emerged on a balcony with a pipe in his hand, striking a match and puffing once to set the tobacco smoldering.

The tactical puppet was swift and quiet, soaring from the thicket without more than a click, needle already extended for the kill. It lingered briefly below the balcony, pausing as its master hesitated, watching the hand that had just moments ago mussed the auburn hair of the boy downstairs. The man had leaned back against the wall, thoughtful in his moment of solitude, and when Karasu lurched over the edge and thrust one wooden limb forward, he was too startled to make a sound. By the time his family finished their chores, he would be dead, only a tiny red pinprick at his throat to tell of a poison so subtle it would fade before morning. Any doctor outside of Sunagakure would fail to notice and assume it had been a heart attack.

For just a second, Kankurou had the irrational desire to wait, to watch for the discovery. He wondered if it would be the man’s wife or son to find him, and if it was the boy, if he would cry. Kankurou hadn’t cried in so long he was uncertain of the way it felt, details fading with time and disassociation. He wondered as he walked toward home if missions like this were good or terrible for all their clean simplicity.

No one would be proud, though it would be recorded that he’d successfully completed a C-ranked mission of insignificant details. His father would say nothing; do nothing. His sister would pretend she knew nothing about it. Baki might ask him to recount the details, but only if he was not told to leave it a secret.

In his bedroom, Kankurou stretched across the bed. The grit of sand scratched at his scalp, though he’d brushed all signs of it from his body after peeling away the jumpsuit. It was hot, thick clouds blanketing the sky without promise of rain, holding in the oppressiveness of day even without the sun. He fixed his gaze on the window, bypassing Karasu’s sprawled form, and watched heat-lightning flash across the horizon.

One hand lifted from his side and settled on his head briefly, snaking down the side of his face to cover his neck. He inhaled slowly and tried to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Posted once in another forum under my old screen name, MaeveGeneva...
> 
>  
> 
> .........feedback, please.


End file.
